


A temporary respite

by AdultDiversion



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdultDiversion/pseuds/AdultDiversion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn seeks distraction before the battle of Helm's deep, and finds it. Graphic scenes featuring top!Legolas ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A temporary respite

The sweet, rotting stench of the orc campaign arrived on the mistral wind. In the distance, Saruman’s army was still but a glowing, sinuous snake, caught between the canyons leading in to Helm’s deep. From his post atop the battlements, Aragorn could see that Legolas had been right. The Keep was safe for one more night; the attack would launch come next sundown, at the earliest. 

Aragorn shifted his gaze from the approaching army, toward the tower where Legolas had granted himself a private sleeping cell. A window framed the dark outline of a male form, backlit by a flickering, yellow glow. Aragorn took the stairs down into the courtyard, noticing the old men and young boys at their posts, their eyes following him as he brushed past them. 

Legolas’ open door greeted him at the top of the winding stairway. The elf stood by the window, still, unmoving at the sound of boot heels on stone floors, the heavy clang of iron, as Aragorn latched the door lock into its narrow slot. Aragorn went to stand beside Legolas, shifting his gaze anew toward the army in the distance. Inching closer, steadily, unavoidably. 

“Ten thousand against three hundred.”

“You should rest,” was the elf’s reply.

Aragorn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Would you find rest in my shoes, Legolas? Under the weight of their lives?”

Finally, the elf turned his face to him. “No,” he answered easily, “But I would attempt it in mind, if not in body. I would use distractions such as they presented themselves to me. That _is_ why you come now, is it not?” Aragorn glanced to Legolas’ side. A table, a single tallow candle. A low, hard bed. Legolas pulled the window shutters.

They undressed each other with quick, skilled hands. Clicks and snaps of leather and metal gave way to deepening breath. Stolen glances passed over tanned and pale skin. Flesh met fevered flesh, lips met tongues and teeth. Shifting, speaking glances and strong hands rendered words superfluous, useless. They needed no words. _This_ needed no words. 

Aragorn extended a hand toward Legolas’ hardening erection, forming a loose fist around the shaft, surrounding it. Firm hands cupped his rear, in return. Inside Aragorn’s calloused palm, Legolas was smooth and wet with his own fluid. Fingers pressed against the pale foreskin, guiding it along the throbbing shaft. Aragorn let his head fall onto the elf’s shoulder, let a heavy breath escape into a pointed ear, as his own cock pressed against Legolas’ thigh. He felt shivers coursing through the elf’s body; how they trailed back to him, through the grip he commanded around Legolas’ cock. He felt the coolness of sucked-in breath by his own neck.

Aragorn pulled back, drinking in the sight of the elf. The smooth, sinewy shoulders and forearms; the supple, curved lines of abdomen and hips. As Legolas took him unaware with a swift push, sending him toward the bed, he remembered just how easily and fatally enemies tended to underestimate his companion. The unmarred, luminous skin stretched over taut muscles, hiding an immense strength that Aragorn never would match. Legolas could snap and break his joints like dry firewood, should he want to do so. Surrendering to the will and urges of his comrade, relinquishing his own, Aragorn would find a temporary respite. Again.

Waiting on hands and knees over threadbare covers, Aragorn could hear Legolas spit impatiently on his fingers. He could hear the rustling of sheets as Legolas positioned between his legs, spreading his glutes with firm hands, exposing him. He could hear their hissing breath as Legolas slicked the tip of his cock, before working on Aragorn’s opening. A determined, stroking thumb moved aside for something larger. No hesitation, no requests for permission, before Aragorn felt the searing pain of Legolas pushing into him. He drew a sharp breath as the head penetrated him, as the length slid inside. Steady, elven hands settled on his hips. Aragorn felt the pain subside to a throbbing pulse; the sensation of being filled, being fucked. No words. Just breath, just sounds of shared movement, thighs against ass, the sticky noises of a rhythm. Legolas captured Aragorn's right wrist, twisting and pinning the arm against Aragorn's back in a locked clasp. It wasn’t uncomfortable, this surrendering of control, to have someone else decide. Aragorn allowed himself to sink into the movement, into the sensation of being dragged into Legolas’ strength. Being steered. 

Half of Aragorn’s face lay forced into the bed, into the friction of rough-spun covers, scraping his skin with each new thrust. He cared not; this burning was welcome, a distraction. Legolas reached under Aragorn, placed his free hand around Aragorn’s erection, let his experienced fingers slide along the shaft as he braced himself with the other arm to fuck Aragorn harder, faster. Aragorn supported himself on a free forearm, turning to face blue shadows trapped within Legolas’ narrowed eyes, the light hair sticking to a pale, sweaty throat, listening for the gasp trapped underneath a marble jawline. Legolas’ quiet moans blended into the sound of Aragron’s own, ragged breath. The skin on his wrist was on fire inside the elf’s grip. Resting his forehead against the bed, Aragorn looked down along his abdomen, toward the hand working his cock, toward the glimpses of Legolas’ sack moving between thrusts. The sounds, the wet sounds of cock and ass and hands. Aragorn felt the slow build from inside; a tender warmth from a spot brushed by every thrust, extending into the tip of his cock, to the tissues of muscle clenching around Legolas. Flowing, from the small of his back, sensation flashed down past his knees, into the soles of his feet, shooting up into his pelvis with tremendous speed. Legolas felt him tensing, responding by fucking him deeper, harder. The feeling of being stretched, filled ---

 _OhgodyesdontstopLegolasdontstopdontstop_

A flash of white-hot seconds drowned out vision and hearing, as his groan, seeming to come from a dark pit inside, escaped him. Remains of the orgasm fanned through him as he collapsed against the bed, dodging the hand that Legolas must have placed over his mouth at some point. Spent, he lay panting into the contractions encircling Legolas’ final, quickening thrusts. The hand around his cock loosened, settling anew with a tight wetness on his hip, pulling them faster together. Aragorn looked over his shoulder, watched Legolas arch his head back as tight muscles bucked hips; reveled in the final thrusts as a fluid warmth filled him. Legolas looked down at him with heavy, veiled eyes; his lips exquisitely parted in a soft _mmnh_.  
Resting beside each other, they lay there and breathed into the salt and sweat, for a while. Aragorn finally rose, donning linen, leather and iron, feeling heaviness creep back into his shoulders, feeling the weight of armor and Legolas’ eyes on his back. Fully clothed, he turned and let his companion capture and hold his gaze. 

“There is still time. Rest here until sunrise,” was the verdict.  
A sigh. “How can I linger here without them? In my mind’s eye, I see the fear in their eyes! It takes the heart of me!” The words rolled off his tongue in despondency, harsher than he intended for them to sound. Sighing heavily, he turned to fasten his sword. 

“To whatever end, Aragorn, they will follow you. As will I.” 

Facing Legolas anew, he saw that the elf had turned to face the wall, quiet now.  
Aragorn secured the last buckle on the belt around his hips, pulling hard on the sheath of his sword. It hung securely in its place. 

He made for the door, and the men atop the battlements.

 

_FIN_


End file.
